


The Bottom of the Bottle

by hysteria



Series: One Slip of the Knife [3]
Category: Whitechapel (TV)
Genre: Low Self Esteem, M/M, Self Harm, Triggers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-14
Updated: 2012-09-14
Packaged: 2017-11-14 05:46:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/511960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hysteria/pseuds/hysteria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kent is late for work and Chandler yells at him, making him lose self control even further.</p><p>[Warning - Contains self harm and other triggers.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Bottom of the Bottle

The rest of the work day went by slowly, making Kent think more about how Chandler didn’t care less about him and his injury. It made him question why his boss didn’t care about him, regardless of the history between them, why didn’t he ask what was wrong with one of his team members? “Does he really blame and hate me that much that he can no longer care for me, even just as another human being?”

Thoughts were racing through Kent’s mind, making him unaware of the time, only being distracted by Riley offering him a lift home. He kindly refused her offer even though she begged for her to take him home. He didn’t want to be left alone with someone quite as kind and caring as Riley, as he knew he’d break down and admit everything to her, something he wouldn’t do for fear of the situation becoming any more negative than it had already become. This was his secret and it made him feel in control, both of himself and his feelings for his DI.

When Kent arrives home, after stopping off at Tesco for more bandages, he places his jacket over the back of the sofa and goes to the fridge to pour himself a drink. A large glass of Jack Daniels, “Only to ease the pain, both in my thigh and this never ending dull ache in my chest” he convinces himself. He sits down on the sofa and flicks the TV on, switching channels attempting to watch something funny to cheer him up. It doesn’t work. Each channel he flicks through has something in it that reminds him of Chandler, be it a song or the way one character looks at another – something Chandler and himself once shared. 

It was no use, everything reminded him of the one thing he wanted to forget and get over. Kent got up and limped over to the fridge and poured himself another large glass of Jack Daniels, then another and another. He’d ended up on the kitchen floor with his back against the cupboard doors. He couldn’t stop the tears from falling down his cheeks. “Why is everything going bad or me? Everytime I try and help the team I do something wrong. Why won’t Chandler forgive me?” he whimpers into the now empty bottle of whiskey.

He isn’t aware of the time when he wakes up in the morning, still lying down on the kitchen floor. Moaning slightly at how heavy his head seems and how nauseous he feels. Kent reaches up and grabs onto the kitchen worktop to pull himself up, the cuts on his thigh pulling slightly as he finally stands up. Blinking slightly at the time he realises he’s late for work, three hours late in fact. Starting to panic Kent rushes into his bedroom, not caring about the pain in his thigh. He pulls yesterday’s work clothes off before putting fresh underwear and a shirt on, then pulls a new suit from his wardrobe.

He grabs his keys, ID and mobile from his jacket on the sofa and heads for the door locking it on the way out. As he heads down the stairs to his Vespa he checks his phone, 3 missed calls from Miles and 5 texts from Riley asking him where he is. Miles left voice messages telling Kent “to get his skinny self into work immediately or he’ll drive to his flat and pull him from bed if needs be”. 

It took Kent 10 minutes to get to work, running up the stairs - not caring about his thigh - to his department and bursting through the doors. Everyone in the room looked up at once, Mansell tutted, Miles looked ready to yell at him before Riley got up to greet him with a hug and whispered in his ear before pulling away, “Kent, are you okay? Why do you smell like a pub, love?” 

Kent couldn’t reply to her before Chandler came storming from his office cross the room towards Kent looking furious. “DC Kent, what excuse do you have for being late? This is not acceptable. Work starts at 9am sharp, not twelve thirty two. This is a caution, if you are this late again without giving sufficient reason for it I have no choice but to fire you, do you understand?” Kent was stunned, unable to look into the face of someone he cared about so much, he looked at the floor “Y-yes, sir. Sorry, sir” he replied all but in a whisper.

Everyone in the office was staring at him as Chandler stormed back into his office, slamming the door behind him. Riley gave him a comforting squeeze on the arm before taking up her seat again. To stop himself from crying, Kent sat down and pushed his thumb into one of the cuts on his leg. The pain made all his bad thoughts go away and forced the tears back from his eyes. He glared at the DI sat in his office before continuing to read the file was has half way through yesterday. 

It was time to clock off but Kent stayed on, annoyed and devastated at what Chandler said earlier in the day. He wanted to prove a point, he wanted Chandler to see that he cares about his work and we would never do anything to compromise the team. Telling the others he wanted to finish reading a file before he headed off convinced them enough to leave without him. Chandler left an hour after the others, ignoring Kent on his way out. Kent followed him leaving with his eyes and as soon as his DI left the office Kent broke down into tears, unable to stop them. 

Kent was still puffy faced and red eyed when he eventually made it home through the rain, helping to hide his endless tears. Limping into his bathroom he removed his jacket, shirt and trousers. He turns on the shower then sits on the toilet carefully undoing the bandage concealing the cuts on his legs. The shower is welcoming after the coldness from the rain, but it does nothing to improve the heavy weight of emotion currently upon his chest. Through the shower cubical he can see the bloodied knife he’d forgotten to move from the sink two days ago. He opens the shower door and reaches for it, his subconscious doing more of the work than his consciousness. 

Kent slides to the floor of the shower, looking from his hand to his thigh, he places the tip of the knife on it and pushes down then slides it along to make a cut. The blood spills from his thigh once again and the water from the shower dilutes it. Kent places the knife on his thigh again and repeats, two more times. All the pain he’s kept in from today flows from him with the blood that oozes from his cuts as he closes his eyes and sits back, trying not to think about anything or anyone.

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize if I'm making anyone sad, I get sad writing it!  
> I hope everyone thinks it is okay so far.


End file.
